Trains
by ladyowl
Summary: AU Summer post-PS. Harry killed Quirrel - and couldn't quite sort out his reaction. He'd never been further away than the zoo, had no family affection to tie him down, and had money for the first time in his life. King's Cross Station has many platforms.


Standard Disclaimers Apply.

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Two eleven year olds stepped through the barrier of Platform 9 and three-quarters. The girl said something quickly before running off to meet her parents. The boy watched while the girl's father swung her around in the air. The boy waved to his friend, as the family turned to leave. Suddenly, the boy's eyes caught sight of a commotion near the front of the station. An obese boy was wailing, and smacking something against his mother. Then the fat boy ran off – towards the young wizard who was still halfway between platforms 9 and 10. The young wizard froze for a second, before dashing down the quay. The trunk squealed as he roughly dragged it behind him. He opened the doors of the train, and stepped inside – crouching down behind the glass windows.

Why did I just do that? I'm going to be in so much trouble...

But, before he could step back onto the quay, a bell rang, and the train took off. A friendly voice rang:

"Attention passengers, this train is bound for Edinburgh. Passengers are reminded to keep an eye on their luggage."

Oh Merlin. What now... He sat on his trunk, and put his head in his hands. Right. Now what. I don't have a ticket. Or money to get a ticket. I'll hide; get off at the next stop; go back – and maybe the Dursely's... Who am I joking. If anything, they'll leave without me. So, I just need to get to Surrey on my own. If I can hide on the train, maybe I can come back to London, then take the next train. Ok. Hiding. In the loo? No, someone will come to see why the door's locked. In one of the baggage racks? Wait. Then if I get found, there'll be no way they'll believe I'm not up to something. I just need them not to see me, while I stay out of the way. Not to see me! Brilliant.

The boy flicked open the trunk, and rummaged around inside – pushing around a knitted sweater, a small photobook, some rolls of parchment,...

Aha. Here we go! And, he slung a thick cloak over himself. As the sleeves fell past his hands, and he pulled the hood over his head, the boy vanished from view. Parts of the trunk were obscured, as if the boy were re-arranging himself, until the trunk too disappeared.

Slowly, the sound of the boy's heartbeat slowed. The boy grasped his arms tighter around himself, and leaned back against the wall next to the door. He drifted off to sleep.

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Darkness. Then, a red stone appeared, and glinted in firelight. "Potter... Potter..." A voice hissed quietly. "Do you see what I have become?" Then there was fire. And screaming. And a flash – like in a mirror – and a boy killing a burning man. The boy looked up – his eyes gleamed red. A bell rang – high-pitched, but tinny.

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The bell rang still, as the boy jerked against the train. He looked around quickly – and re-covered the left side of the trunk with his cloak.

"Attention passengers. In a few moments, we will be arriving at Peterborough station. Connections are: for Leeds, Platform 3; for Nuneaton, Platfom 5; for London – Kings Cross, Platform 2; for Newcastle, platform 4. For other information, please see the Departures board on arrival."

Ok. Here we go... The boy scrunched himself into the corner – still invisible. Two women and a man descended the steps from the passenger cabin. The train began to slow, and the boy grabbed on the edges of the trunk. Luckily, neither he, nor the trunk tipped over. One of the female passengers stumbled a bit. Her forwards foot stopped within a foot from the edge of the trunk. The boy held himself very still, though his eyes were wide open.

Finally, the train stopped. The man palmed the button to open the doors, and the three visible passengers exited the train.

And old man climbed in the door – and went up the stairs. When the coast was clear, the boy pulled off his cloak. He folded it quickly, and wrapped it around his torso, under his shirt. Then, the boy grabbed the trunk, and pulled it off the train.

He walked slowly, and glanced around several times. A pale policeman was walking towards him.

"Here, boy. You lost?"

"No, sir. I got on the wrong train..."

"What's your name, boy?"

"Harry, sir." The next question will be trickiest. What to say. What to say. Truth, Lies, a Mix?

"Now, Harry. Where are your parents?"

"At home, sir. I'm on my way back from boarding school. But I got on the wrong train at King's Cross. Now, I've got to go back, and get the right train. But, first I think I should call – so they don't worry. Is there a pay-phone at the station, officer? "

"Sure, boy. By the ticket booth. Pick up the right train this time, hear me? Platform 2. That's that one – over there."

"Thanks, Officer."

The boy – Harry – picked up the end of his trunk, and pulled it to the ticket booth. He put his left hand into his pocket, then raised it to the coin slot. He dialed some numbers then picked up the receiver – and listened to the recorded adverts, before saying "Hi Dad, it's me – Harry. I'm going to be late. I've missed the train."A pause, and a nod. "No, don't worry. You don't need to come get me... Yeah – Ron and Hermione, she's a bit keen, but nice anyway. And... No, I'm calling from a payphone... Ok. Ya, ya. Say hi to Mum for me... Bye."

A woman standing in line smiled at him as he hung up the phone. "Good luck getting home, dear."

"Thanks, Ma'am."

Harry waved to the pale policeman, who was still watching him. He dragged his trunk to Platform 2. Sitting on the trunk, and waiting for the train, he looked around un-easily. Too many people. The train arrived, and the passengers got on. Harry brought his trunk to the baggage rack. He slid it onto the bottom shelf, but it wouldn't fit all the way. The boy huffed, and pulled the trunk back out. He felt under the corners of the rack, and was surprised to find some sort of knitted textile. He pulled the hat – for that was what it was – out, and beamed. Happily, he pulled the hat down onto his head, and pushed the trunk back under the rack. This time, it fit.

Step one executed, Harry went to look for an unoccupied WC. Once inside, with the door safely locked, he considered himself. A pudgy boy, in too big clothes. Under the hat, his scar was hidden. Only his glasses and eyes were still recognizable.

It'll have to work, I guess. Ok. Now, I step outside, and if the hallway is empty, I put on the cloak. And, if it's not, I find another loo. I can do this. Wiping sweaty hands on his trousers, he unlocked the door, and stepped out. The hallway was empty.

A short while later, the invisible boy settled himself on the steps into the passenger compartment. The countryside passed by in a green blur. The afternoon sun broke briefly through the clouds.

For a moment, it appeared as though smoke filtered through the air. The boy flinches. He looked at his hands. They were child's hands – naturally – but covered in callouses. And, if Madame Pomphrey properly done her job, they would be burnt. At least scarred from burning. Killer's hands, Harry thought, and flinched. I had to do it. I couldn't let Him win. I... I didn't want to die... I didn't want to kill him. He laid his head down on the step above. Kill. What an ugly word. I feel like my brain is swimming. I don't think I should ever have left it alone. But, it's not like I won't have to think about it at the Dursely's. I'm not sure whether I'm glad or upset that they don't know. I'm Freakish – they were right. But, if they knew I don't think I'd ever have to clean up the bathroom again.

A long moment passed. Would it be so bad, for me just to keep going? Just – well, not run away – because I'd come back. There's no way that I'm not going back to Hogwarts. But, a break. It's not like anyone will even notice that I'm not at the Dursely's, except the Dursely's, and they'll probably be pleased. Where would I go? I can't keep hiding on trains. If I had enough money to buy a ticket, but I've just got the 50p they sent me for Christmas. Hands clenched, until the boy looked down, and nervously pressed them into his lap. No, I can't go back. Or at least, not just now. I need to settle down. Like this, I'll, I don't know kill... No, I'm not going to finish that thought. But, still.

Decision made, the boy sat up properly. So. I need money. Can I steal it – no I'll get caught. I've got some spare Galleons in my trunk. Maybe I can pawn them? Like I would know where to go. Waitwaitwait. Galleons. Gringotts. I have money. And, Hermione's parents' must have changed money – so, I can probably do the opposite. I just need to get in and out, without being recognized. There's no way I want to get mobbed. There's no way I want to deal with the mess. But, no-one'll expect me now. I guess that's my angle, then.

Harry pulled off his cloak, and re-wrapped it around his waist as the friendly voice warned of the station's approach. Then, he collected his trunk, slipping the bag of his remaining Galleons out of the trunk and into his pocket before the train entrance became crowded. He was the first out the door when the train pulled into the station. The boy's eyes inspected the station for any signs of magic – but there were no more students pulling trunks, badly dressed parents, or owls around. I hope that Hedwig finds me, but I'm glad that I'm not dragging her around too.

And one eye caught upon a sign hanging in the corner – Lockers for Hire. Fantastic. Drawing closer to the sign – 4 pounds per day. No luck there, unless... Second time has to be easier

The attendant glanced down at the boy in front of her desk. "Excuse me, ma'am. I'm coming back from boarding school, but my aunt and uncle said they'd be late to pick me up... I was wondering – I only have 50p – can I leave my trunk with you for 3 hours?"

"I suppose we could do that. Do you need me to call your aunt for you?"

"No, thank you, ma'am, I called before I got on the train." Technically true...

"Alright then, dear. Here's a tag – I've written on it 3 hours – that's 19:00. All set?"

"Thanks! See you soon!"

With a friendly smile, Harry turned and walked towards the station's bookstore. In a rotating display were tour-guides. He picked one up, and flipped through the maps. Gray's Inn Road. Theobald's Road. Shaftesbury Ave. Charing Cross Rd. Ok. Gray, Theo, Shaft, Charing, Gray, Theo, Shaft, Charing. Off we go. The boy replaced the book, and left the station. His strides were quick and determined, but he rubbed his hands frequently against his trousers. Thirty minutes to follow his prepared trail before he was standing outside of the Leaky Cauldron. He pulled his hat down further over his forehead, and pushed his way into the pub. A rumble came from his stomach, but the boy just walked faster – avoiding eye contact with any of the customers. Gringotts now. Eat later. I'm on a deadline. I have to be there before 5.

He pulled his wand out of his pocket at the door to the Alley. This can't count as magic. I'm just tapping bricks. The stones unfolded themselves, and Harry stepped into the light and energy of Diagon Alley. He took a moment to look about, before scuttling off toward the crooked building of Gringotts.


End file.
